Feel Like a Number

Beaurocracy is so fucking demoralizing. I went to the police station today, documents in hand, ready to get legal. Of course it didn't work. No one told me I needed proof (in the form of another official document, of course, not just my lease) that I live in a legal domicile, or 3 passport photos, or a copy of the stamp in my passport from when I entered Europe. But it turns out I need all of those things, and this morning I had none of them. Which isn't a huge deal--my current visa is valid until the end of March, so I don't think there's a big rush. But now I have to go to another office and get another document, and to get this Padrón (that's what it's called) I need an original copy of my lease and of course I don't have an original copy of my lease, because that's just the kind of colossal fuck-up that I am. Shit. So I'll have to try to borrow my landlord's copy of the lease, again probably making her think I'm a total flake.... And I really couldn't understand the woman at the police station when she spoke, which was also demoralizing. (Three photos and a photocopy I understood; the Padrón thing I didn't.) She ended up writing everything down for me, which was actually pretty nice but also made me feel like an idiot. And that's the thing about beaurocracy: At best it leaves you feeling frustrated and inadequate, at worst you're banging your head against a wall and muttering incoherently in public. You can't win.

In happier news, I had surprisingly good Chinese food for lunch. Ethnic food here is just a little different, though. The fried rice had ham in it.

...and on a completely unrelated note:
     "I watched you clean the filth off your phone dial
     Swallowing the things your finger picked up"
Franz Ferdinand, what the fuck are you talking about??